Chapter Sixteen #2
Kirk glanced up at the man. “I remember when that happened,” he said. “I knew your son, if you recall. Michael was a fine man.”
Lionel shrugged, not particularly wanting to relive that agony. It was still his daily companion, like a ghost that never went away. He gestured at the vellum.
“What else does Edmund say about the siege?” he asked. “Don’t you have brothers at Wicklow as well?”
Kirk looked back at the missive. “I do,” he replied, “but he does not mention them. Just my father. He says I am to meet Anchorholme’s troops at the port tomorrow morning. We sail for Wicklow immediately.”
Lionel nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I shall have Spencer muster six hundred troops for you to take with you but I think, given his injury, that I will keep him here with me. I will send another knight in his stead.”
Kirk nodded faintly, not giving much thought to the fact that Spencer’s injury wasn’t that serious and le Vay was more than likely keeping him behind because he was afraid he would lose the man to Kirk’s temper were he to send him to Ireland.
Kirk had more important things on his mind, reflecting on his father, his mother, his brothers, and losing himself in a world of anguish and sorrow.
The more he tried to fight off the feelings, the more they swamped him.
Eventually, he set the missive aside and leaned forward in his chair, head in his hands. Grief swallowed him.
Le Vay rose from his padded chair, moving away from Kirk to give the man a bit of privacy to mourn.
He went to stand near the lancet window, watching the bailey of Quernmore Castle come alive in the early morning.
This small Norman fortress had been in his family for three hundred years, close to the western coast of Lancashire where it had fended off Celtic invaders and other marauders during that time. It had seen much action.
“What more can I do for you, Kirk?” he asked softly, turning away from the sights and sounds of the bailey to face the distraught knight. “How can I help?”
Kirk removed his face from his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You have already pledged men and support, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “You have already done much that I am grateful for.”
“You would do the same for me.”
Kirk nodded, rising wearily to his feet. “I will help Spencer muster the troops.”
“Kirk,” le Vay came away from the window, his gaze intense. “Spencer can do this without your help. In fact, I would prefer if you stayed away from him.”
Kirk knew what he meant. He waved the man off. “I will not harass him,” he assured le Vay. “This is business. I do not mix it with personal feelings.”
Le Vay sighed faintly, thoughtfully. “I would not presume to question your honor, but I would feel better if you stayed away until the troops are prepared,” he said. “I am an old man. I worry. You will do this for me.”
Kirk smiled weakly. “If I were to swear on my oath, would you believe me?”
“I would. But I still want you to stay away.”
Kirk simply nodded, not having the energy to argue with the man. But there was one more thing on his mind as he headed to the solar door.
“My lord, you asked if there was something more you could do for me,” he paused by the big oak panel, open to the darkened keep beyond. “I believe there is.”
“Name it.”
Kirk hesitated a moment before speaking. “Lady Mara,” he said. “I will not be able to return her to Anchorsholme myself.”
“I will send her with an escort.”
Kirk was visibly relieved. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate it.”
Le Vay’s dark eyes twinkled. “I will make sure not to send Spencer as her escort.”
Kirk rolled his eyes. “A wise choice, my lord,” he said. Then, he sobered. “In fact, it would be wise to keep the man away from her. Permanently.”
Le Vay sobered as well. “I will make sure he understands that.”
Kirk nodded shortly and left the room without another word.
Lionel watched him go with a heavy heart, feeling sad about the circumstances at Wicklow that had robbed Kirk of his father.
But such was the way of the world. Battles, and death, were part of the common fabric.
They had all known their fair share of it.
As he turned away from the door, he noticed Kirk’s missive on the floor and bent over to pick it up.
As he put it on the table, he noticed the second of the two missives Edmund had sent him.
He’d only opened the first one because Kirk had been insistent about it.
Kirk hadn’t known the contents of the second missive so Lionel had set it aside as the more pressing issues in the first missive had taken over.
In fact, he’d forgotten about it until now.
Alone in the solar, Lionel popped the seal on the second missive and read the contents. He read it again. His mouth popped open and his bushy eyebrows lifted. He read it three more times before the meaning actually began to sink in. Even then, he could hardly believe it.
What he read shocked him to the bone.
*
Kirk had been summoned shortly after sunrise by a servant and had left Mara to their cozy bed, warm and snug.
She drifted in and out of sleep as the sun broke the horizon, her dreams on Kirk when she slept and her thoughts on him when she was awake.
She could smell him in the bed linens, on her hands, and on her body.
Everything about the man made her feel deliriously warm and happy and safe.
But those thoughts ended when a gull took rest upon the windowsill, squawking.
Mara lifted her head, eyeing the gull unhappily as it preened its feathers and squawked.
Hanging over the side of the bed, she grabbed the nearest thing she could grab, her shoe, and tossed it at the window.
Insulted, the gull flew off as the shoe clattered to the floor.
The gull reminded her of the sea, and the sea reminded her of Kirk and his departure for Ireland.
Sadness swamped her but she fought it, not wanting to be an emotional wreck about it.
She had been given the chance to rage about it, to beg Kirk not to go, but that was over with now.
She was coming to see that no amount of pleading would keep the man from going.
She needed to come to terms with it. She thought, perhaps, he would want it that way.
Perhaps she needed to grow up a bit, as befitting the future wife of a warrior.
There was cold water in the basin next to the bed and she remembered the bar of soap Lady Lily had given her.
Rising in the chill of the room, she found the precious soap in her satchel and used it to wash with, cold water and all.
She hooted as she splashed the water on her face and swabbed off her body.
The smell of freesia was heavy and delicious.
Having existed for so long with only the bare necessities of life, something luxurious and feminine was thrilling.
Once she was washed and moderately dried, she tucked the precious soap away again.
As she pulled her shift over her head, there was a knock at the door. Hesitantly, Mara went to open it a crack, peering out into the darkened landing.
Lady Lily stood in the weak light, swathed in finery and smiling timidly. “Good morn to you, my lady,” she said pleasantly. “I… I thought you could use some assistance in dressing this morning. I have not had much opportunity to properly speak with you and I should like to remedy that.”
Mara wasn’t quite sure what to say. Seeing Lily’s lovely face brought on stabs of jealousy that she quickly pushed aside.
She remembered how kind and accommodating Lily had been the night before when Mara had been in a panic about Kirk and Spencer’s battle.
In fact, Lily had gone out of her way to comfort her, something Mara didn’t really think about until this very moment.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel so resistant. She opened the door wider.
“Come in,” she told her.
Lily entered the room, followed closely by two servants bearing a variety of garments and other things. Mara looked at them very curiously.
“What have you brought?” she asked.
Lily’s smile grew. “Well,” she began, pulling one of the garments out of the servant’s arms. “I truly hope you do not mind, but when I saw you last night, a thought occurred to me. You see, my mother died some time ago and I have trunks full of her garments that I cannot wear simply because I am too tall, so they have been packed away in storage with no one to wear them. They are too fine to donate to the poor and no one I know can fit them, so I was hoping to perhaps gift them to you because you are the perfect size. Will you at least look?”
Astonished, Mara watched as Lily held up an exquisite shift made from soft lamb’s wool with tiny gold thread woven through it.
As Mara reached out to touch the fabric, Lily held up another garment, a matching surcoat that was layered with golden fabrics and lined on the edges with white rabbit fur.
It was absolutely exquisite and Mara couldn’t help her jaw from dropping.
“Me?” she asked, stunned. “For me?”
Lily could see how surprised Mara was. Truthfully, she had come this morning because she felt guilty for virtually ignoring the lady since her arrival.
She’d had Kirk to keep her occupied and a host of visiting relatives.
In fact, she had only gotten a good look at the lady last night as Kirk and Spencer had battled it out, and she had noticed the worn nature of Mara’s surcoat.
Surely a woman would have worn her very finest to a feast so if that was Mara’s finest, Lily came to think that perhaps the woman didn’t have much at all.
As her ladies in waiting whispered and giggled about Mara’s rags, Lily felt a good deal of compassion for her.